


Seek You Out

by rory_the_dragon



Series: Miles And Miles [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Ambiguously Underage, M/M, Non-Fairytale AU, Peter POV, Semi-Public Sex, The Lost Boys Are A Gang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 23:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rory_the_dragon/pseuds/rory_the_dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with falling in love with a teenager - especially falling in love with a teenager like Henry - is that they can be absolute little shits.</p>
<p>“When we get out of here, I want you to fuck me in the back of your car,” Henry whispers, lips brushing the top of Peter’s ear, breath hot against his skin. “Or against a wall. I’m not that picky.”</p>
<p>(Or: the one where Peter's been neglecting Henry and Henry's not having it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seek You Out

**Author's Note:**

> This mainly started as a challenge to me to learn to write porn, but I quite liked writing in this world so I might come back to it.
> 
> Warnings for possible underage sex. In this Henry is 17, which is legal here, but I know it's different in America, so... Peter's age is anywhere between 18 and 21.
> 
> Clarifying points; The Lost Boys are a gang, but that's not really the main factor in this fic. Neverland is the bar/pub they have their meetings in. (Imaginative, no?)

 

The problem with falling in love with a teenager - especially falling in love with a teenager like Henry - is that they can be absolute little shits.

“When we get out of here, I want you to fuck me in the back of your car,” Henry whispers, lips brushing the top of Peter’s ear, breath hot against his skin. “Or against a wall. I’m not that picky.”

Literally every smooth response short-circuits out of Peter’s head at the _noise_ Henry follows that up with as he pulls away, as if it’s physically painful for him to leave Peter’s side, but Henry doesn’t even look fazed, trotting happily over to the back table he and Wendy set up shop at every meeting, leaving Peter to stare dazedly after him in shock, previous thread of conversation severed in the sudden white-out of his brain.

“You okay, boss?” Felix asks, doesn’t smirk, and Peter really _really_ appreciates that.

“Fine.” He shakes his head, clears it. “Where were we?”

Felix doesn’t smirk, but amusement glitters in his eyes.

The entire meeting continues in the same, maddening, vein; Henry making excuses to visit Peter’s table and whisper _filth_ into his ears. “ _You know, if you weren’t so_ busy _, I’d be blowing you in the bathroom by now_.” “ _I want you to fuck me so hard you leave bruises, fuck, will you do that for me_?”

The only reason Peter doesn’t call the meeting to an abrupt halt, send everyone away, and bend Henry over the nearest available surface is because, dammit, he _is_ busy and Henry fucking knows it.

He’s always known from the get-go that he bit off more than he can chew with Henry, the younger boy never backing down from a fight, standing up in Peter’s space like he doesn’t know he’s small, alwaysalways pushing Peter in way Peter’s never been pushed before, and Peter loves it, loves him, loves it even sitting rock hard in talks about territory lines and under-the-table deals in which he very much needs to be present and instead just can’t get the presence of _Henry_ out of his head.

The only people who realise what's happening are Felix, who doesn’t say anything, because he’s a good friend, but he doesn’t say anything _pointedly_ because while he might be a good friend he’s not a good person, and Wendy, who’s just an asshole and laughs openly at Peter’s face every time Henry dips next to him, eyes wide and beguiling while he mutters obscenities into Peter’s hair.

He regrets introducing Wendy and Henry to each other. She’s been a bigger bad influence on the kid than he has.

Finally, _ohgodfinally_ , everyone starts filtering out, Wendy giving Peter an encouraging pat on the shoulder that would make him want to snarl at her if all of his attentions weren’t currently focused on the space across the room that Henry’s occupying, _lounging_ really, drawing attention to the long sprawl of his legs, the lines of his neck, _fuck_. The door’s barely made the definite click of privacy before Peter’s up, sliding into Henry’s booth and straddling him.

Henry hisses beneath him, games wearing just as thin on him as they have on Peter.

“That wasn’t very nice, love,” Peter admonishes, but can’t quite stop the grin spreading across his face as Henry shifts purposefully beneath him, tells him to “ _shut up_ ” and seals their mouths together, teeth tugging on Peter’s top lip before Peter can even get his feet under him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” He says, pulling back, because holy shit Henry’s _serious_ , Henry’s pulling his t-shirt out of his jeans and unbuckling his belt, Henry, sweet little Sheriff's son Henry Mills, wants Peter to fuck him in the middle of Neverland where anyone could walk in on them, and fuck if Peter can think of anything hotter than that in the electricity storm his brain’s become.

“That’s the general idea, yes,” Henry says, teeth scraping at Peter’s jaw in a way that Peter’ll have marks tomorrow, and Peter _really_ needs to get the upper hand here.

It’s difficult, but not impossible, to flip them in the small space of the booth they’ve crammed themselves into, but Peter manages it, and Henry laughs, delighted, above him and kisses him again, hard, before sliding off his lap and- _fuck, he’s getting on his knees._

“I know it’s not the bathroom, but I did promise…?” Henry’s on his knees beneath the table, looking up at him like he’s waiting for some goddamn _permission_ to suck his cock, fingers hovering over the snap of his jeans, and Peter nods because that’s all he can do right now without embarrassing himself, and Henry makes a little noise of happiness that’s simultaneously filthy and adorable, and Peter just _knows_ that this kid is going to be the death of him.

Henry...Henry is a goddamn _prodigy_ at blowjobs. The first time, Peter talked him through it, teaching him with his voice even as it shook, hand threaded in his hair, and he’s never going to forget the look of pride in Henry’s eyes when he was finished, wiping his mouth and staring at Peter, wrecked, like he couldn’t believe he was the one who did that. Ever since, Henry has been so enthusiastic, curious even, testing out a thousand different variations just to see, and, hey, Peter isn’t complaining, very _very_ far from it, but right now he doesn’t want this to end down Henry’s throat, not when Henry’s been whispering promises about Peter fucking him all night.

He says as such, while he still can, follows it with a hiss of, “And don’t you dare touch yourself.” Henry makes a little displeased noise that vibrates _fantastically_ around Peter, but complies, placing his hands on the curve of Peter’s thighs where he can see them, gives him something to grip onto as he watches Henry’s lips grow redder around his cock before they disappear abruptly, only to lick a careful line along the entire length, mouthing gently, all the little variations he’s discovered that drive Peter totally totally mad without letting him come.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” He gets out, head thunking back against the wood of the booth. “Get up here. Now.”

The noise Henry’s mouth makes pulling off is depraved. Peter has to remind himself every time they fuck that he is actually dating someone from the right side of the tracks, because while Henry is an inherently _good person_ , he’s not a good little boy by any stretch of the imagination.

Peter’s humming with the need to touch, push Henry around and _take_ , and the rub of Henry’s jeans against his cock makes him bury his face in Henry’s collarbone, bite down. He presses a line of open mouthed kisses up his neck, finding his mouth. It’s generous to call it kissing, because Peter’s really just breathing into Henry’s mouth, too preoccupied with unbuttoning Henry’s jeans on the first attempt, pushing them down and _oh god, he’s not wearing underwear_. Peter laughs weakly into Henry’s cheek, resting his head against his brilliant brilliant boy. He can feel Henry’s blush.

The next kiss _is_ a kiss, and it’s bruising. Peter’s pretty sure he can taste blood, and he’s not sure whose it is.

“Get them off,” He demands, even when it’s hard to hold a position of authority while panting, and Henry’s shoes are already kicked off somewhere, jeans halfway down his thighs, so it takes an astonishingly short amount of time and a maddening amount of wriggling to kick them off, away, and if anyone walks into their back room now they’re going to see them strewn across the floor, hear Henry and Peter because neither one of them is being quiet, and Peter has never been so turned on in all his life.

He rubs his top lip into the smear of saliva around Henry’s mouth because he can’t not, sucks on his tongue as he slides a hand up Henry’s thigh, finds his hole and uses one finger to press in, gently, carefully.

Henry bites down on his lip, hard. “You fuck me dry and I am getting my mom’s gun.”

Peter groans. “Can we please not talk about your mother right now?” He says, but the image of Henry’s small hands wrapped around the handle of a gun, pointing it at _him_ , makes his eyes roll back into his skull, his hips hitch. Henry fucking _keens_.

“Jacket,” He says, and Peter’s so caught up in the way his eyes screw up, tight, the flush in his cheeks, that he doesn’t even register what he’s saying until Henry shoves a bundle of material into his lap.

“Right, jacket.” He says, fumbling through the pockets like it’s his first goddamn time until he finds the small packet of lube.

Prep doesn’t take long. For all his talk, Henry likes it to stretch and burn, likes the reminder of it the next day, the reminder of Peter, and knowledge of that makes Peter punch drunk, ridiculously, _sappily_ , happy. He sucks bruises into Henry’s neck as he crooks his fingers, draws a shudder, grins as Henry bites down on his earlobe.

“For gods sake, Peter, _fuck me_.” He all but growls, hiking his legs up as much as he can in the small space, and Peter lines himself up, forehead pressed against Henry’s so he can see every minute change in his face as he pushes in and in and in.

Henry lets out a quiet “ _Oh_ ” before his hands are pulling greedily at Peter’s back, pulling him further in, and he’s so tight, always so tight, and Peter can’t move right now otherwise he’ll go off like a shot, because he’s inside his beautiful boy and Henry’s nails are already digging into his back, creating new scratches over the old ones, and fuck it’s been too long since he did this. He’s been too busy for too long and it took Henry _plotting_ to get to this point. Peter’s not one for regrets, but right now he feels ashamed that he let Henry slip in his priorities, even a little.

“Fuck I’m so sorry,” He whispers, fierce into Henry’s ear as he finally moves again, hips canting _up_ , and Henry can only nod against him, vulnerable for just a second, in the way he hardly ever is, before he’s rolling his hips, quick, snap, and Peter has to hold on, one hand under Henry’s shirt at the small of his back, the other on his thigh as he looks up at his gorgeous boy.

Henry’s gasping, head thrown back, fingertips now bruising his biceps as if he’s going to come apart if he doesn’t hold on tight enough, and Peter drives up into him, sucks into the hollow of his neck as they find a rhythm, their rhythm, and they’re fucking in the backroom of Neverland, and Peter’s never going to be able to look at Henry’s booth again without wanting to tear Henry’s clothes off, and the rest of the bar can probably hear them with how loud they’re being, but Peter couldn’t care less, not when Henry’s saying his name over and over and over again, like a prayer.

He moves one hand to Henry’s cock and strokes him, strips him, and it’s only a few quick movements of his hand before Henry’s shouting, coming like a goddamn freight train, all over his hand, all over his shirt, and Peter comes too, following him over in a flash of lightning at his brain stem, heat pulsing behind his navel, shuddering.

Henry sags against him, rubber-boned and content, practically purring as Peter presses a collection of small kisses in his hair, his temple, the delicate skin behind his ear.

“Fuck,” Peter manages, and Henry laughs.

“Yeah.”

Giving his t-shirt up as a lost cause, Peter strips it off and uses it to clean them up. There’s a questionable stain on Henry’s shirt, and Peter’s jeans, but by the time they get outside it’ll be dark enough that no one will notice. The Lost Boys have a back entrance out of Neverland anyway, so at least Peter won’t have to go through the bar, shirtless with red lines scored into his back. Though it’d be worth it, he thinks, just to watch Henry’s face heat up.

He kisses him again, soft, another apology, and Henry lets him. Henry always lets him, which will always amaze him, because apparently Henry is good enough for the two of them.

“I’ll take you home,” He mumbles against Henry’s lips, reluctant, wanting nothing more to take Henry home with him for the night, wake up to him. It doesn’t happen nearly often enough for Peter’s liking. He slides out from under Henry, going to pick up his jeans for him, turns back when he realises Henry’s being too quiet. “What?”

Henry looks sheepish all of a sudden. “I told my mom I was staying at Wendy’s tonight,” He admits, taking the jeans from Peter and pulling them on.

Peter quirks an eyebrow. “And she believed you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Peter laughs, the sound shocked out of him in a bark, and Henry looks so goddamn pleased that he has to kiss him. “She might just be starting to like me.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it.”

Emma Swan is the scariest woman Peter has ever met, and he’s met Tink. She really doesn’t approve of Peter, which is fair enough because Peter doesn’t really approve of Peter for Henry either. But tonight he can pretend that she does and he does, and hold Henry in his sheets like he belongs there.

 


End file.
